


Melt

by TsarinaTorment



Series: Sensory Sunday [3]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Avalanches, Broken Bones, Burns, Crash Landing, Gen, Gordon whump, Hurt Gordon, Hurt Scott, Scott Whump, SensorySunday, Snow, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24724942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TsarinaTorment/pseuds/TsarinaTorment
Summary: Snowy rescues are always the worst.  Always.
Relationships: Scott Tracy & Gordon Tracy
Series: Sensory Sunday [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1778035
Comments: 8
Kudos: 35





	1. I - Gordon

**Author's Note:**

> As promised I'm back for more of Gumnut's SensorySunday challenge - this week it's the sense of Smell!
> 
> I had a plan for this fic. It's already changed twice, so it's probably more accurate to just admit I don't have a clue where this is going, but what's new?

A sea breeze had a distinctive scent. The freshness of the air tinged with the slightest bit of salt combined to be one of Gordon's favourite scents (another one was that on perfume Lady Penelope seemed to use whenever he was around, sweet and subtle just like her), but something told him he shouldn't just be laying on this soft beach relaxing.

He wasn't entirely sure what it was. Maybe it was a sharp smell of burning metal, wafting his nostrils unpleasantly and stubbornly, or the dull pain in one of his legs informing him not-so-politely that it wasn't happy with him. His wrist was far from pleased with its current condition either, judging by the signals it was throwing at his brain.

Or maybe it was the rasping voice calling his name.

"Gordon? Gordon! _Gordon!_ Wake up!"

Did he _have_ to? It was comfortable and warm here. The sand was pleasantly hot and as long as he didn't move, his leg and wrist wouldn't be too grumpy with him. What had even happened, anyway?

"Gordon!"

Raspy-voice sounded panicky. A heavy, hot hand crashed onto his shoulder clumsily and he groaned in protest.

"Don't wanna," he sulked, but the clumsy hand shook him and his wrist sent a stabbing pain up his arm. "Okay, fine, _fine_."

He peeled his eyelids open slowly and squinted at the bright sun streaming down directly into his face. _Ow_. He loved the sun, but did it have to be quite so intrusively bright and _in his face_?

Everything was bright, but as he turned his head to the side and blinked away vicious afterimages of brightness he realised something wasn't quite right, not including the pain from his body. The fresh sea breeze he'd been enjoying had vanished, replaced with a stillness that was almost stifling. Nor was it warm – in fact, it was far, _far_ too cold. It wasn't soft, either.

Hard, cold and _wet_.

Snow.

That thing none of them liked anymore, not even too-young-to-remember Alan. That thing they'd ended up fleeing to the South Pacific to escape. But missions called, and not liking snow was not a good enough reason for them to refuse to attend.

A mission. He was on a mission. It was also highly unlikely he'd been on a mission by himself, considering he never did anything other than a water rescue solo – and that the heavy, hot hand on his shoulder was still there.

He squinted against the _bright_. Blue told him nothing – they all wore blue, it showed up _very_ well against white – and he squinted further. He just needed a flash of colour to remind him who it was, but there was blue, blue and more blue. No green, no red.

Well, neither of those colours meant he was probably supposed to be looking at grey.

"Gordon!" raspy-voice demanded again, and this time Gordon managed to place it, and with identification came clarification.

That burning metal, unmistakable in its stench, was the remains of a HeliPod and sadly not a figment of his imagination. He'd flown up with Scott – who had been told under no uncertain circumstances that a jetpack was not acceptable to go whizzing around snowy mountains by both Virgil and John – but something had gone wrong and he'd lost control of the HeliPod. He didn't remember what, but there was a very good chance that said HeliPod was never going to fly again. Brains would be mad.

"Gordon!" Scott's repetitive rasping was getting annoying and Gordon moved his not-complaining wrist to flap in his direction.

"Yes, yes, I'm awake." He should probably work on sitting up. Aside from the wrist there was no tell-tale pain in his torso. "Move your hand so I can get up." Scott didn't oblige, and he rolled his eyes. Smother hen out in full force. "Scott, I promise I can sit up just fine. My leg and wrist hurt but otherwise I'm all good."

"Gordon!" Scott insisted again, and he groaned even as something in the back of his head nagged that something wasn't right. He reached across his body and grasped Scott's hot, too hot, hand, nudging it away from his shoulder before hauling himself upright.

Oh, well that explained why his leg didn't seem too happy. It was twisted weirdly, definitely broken. Okay, no walking any time soon. At least he had Scott for company while they waited for the second-best Thunderbird to appear overhead, scold them for being reckless, and yoink them back into blessed _warmth_.

Gordon was starting to feel very, very cold. That wasn't a good thing.

"Scott, I'm not going anywhere with this leg. Can you come over here? My suit isn't dealing too well with the temperature. I want a hug."

The clumsy hand flopped on the snow where he'd just been laying. Red and blistered fingers didn't look too good, but as Gordon looked over at where the brother attached to said arm was, he realised they were in more trouble than he'd expected.

"Gordon!"

Scott was looking at him. That was good. That meant he was conscious, and seemed to be aware of his surroundings. Always a positive!

The burning HeliPod was closer than he'd realised, however. Much closer. Flaming-metal-on-neoprene closer.

There was a reason they had special fire-retardant versions of their suit if they ever had to enter a burning area. Neoprene was fantastic, but it wasn't designed to take much intense heat for long. Scott's face was white, eyes screwing shut now Gordon was paying attention as he mouthed soundlessly for what looked suspiciously like _help_. Well, that wasn't good. Scott wasn't wearing his space-rated uniform. Exposed fingers plus burning metal did not a good time make.

Gordon's deep-water-rated uniform had full cover gloves.

"I'm coming!" he promised immediately, a broken leg suddenly inconsequential in the face of his brother's melting uniform. With one hand he gripped Scott's wrist, avoiding the angrily blistered fingers that told of a lost battle, while the other worked with his unbroken leg to propel him through the snow. Agony shot through his leg, but Gordon had dealt with worse. He grit his teeth and ignored it, reaching out as soon as he was close enough to shove at the burning metal.

Barring the full gloves, his own suit was no better designed to handle burning metal than Scott's. The chill of the show was quickly overturned by burning, _burning_ in his fingers as he gripped at it and pushed.

"Move!" he ground out through grit teeth, fumbling his hold for a moment before readjusting his grip. His uniform was screaming at him, alerts flashing up that heat parameters were being exceeded. Well bully for them; from the state of it, Scott's uniform had long since exceeded heat parameters.

Somewhere, he idly noticed John wasn't telling him off for his recklessness. He hadn't heard John since the explosion, actually. Hadn't heard anything except the rasping voice of the big brother trapped by burning metal. He could worry about that later. Right now, he had to get Scott free and assess him for damage past burnt fingers from wresting with burning metal.

He pushed and pushed, but to no avail. He just wasn't strong enough.

The metal wouldn't move.

Scott was trapped, and Gordon was powerless to free him.

He slapped his baldric, right over the familiar _iR_ indentation. No time for niceties, no time for anything except a single plea.

" _HELP!"_


	2. II - Virgil

Virgil never enjoyed snow rescues all that much. Too cold, too many bad memories. A group of lost climbers calling in a panic when an additional snowfall cut off their route home and threatened an avalanche needed their help, though, so he'd responded alongside Gordon, with Thunderbird One and Scott tearing ahead as per usual.

Thunderbird engines were impressive feats of engineering, but they still emitted downdrafts and enough pressure to dislodge large amounts of snow. Thunderbird One was hovering under John and EOS' control out of the danger zone, while Scott hopped into a HeliPod with Gordon to get in close to the reported position of their distressed callers.

He'd wanted to use his jetpack. Virgil was glad that between the two of them, he and John had convinced him it was a very bad idea. None of them wanted any of them alone near temperamental snow. Scott had seen sense reasonably quickly – unusual, with their stubborn leader-come-brother, but then again, Scott remembered the devastation of avalanches all too well himself.

Thunderbird Two was also hovering at a safe distance, but her job – and his – was to keep an eye on the snow and pray for no more avalanches. The monitor was holding stable, but it wouldn't take much at all to potentially change that. As soon as Gordon and Scott found their intrepid explorers, he'd move in to scoop them all up, but moving earlier than absolutely required would do nothing except increase the risk of the avalanche.

So Virgil sat, and waited. John's little hologram was hovering as usual during a mission, keeping an eye on anything and everything from space. Silent, but reassuring.

Until he wasn't silent any more.

"I've lost them," he said all of a sudden.

"Where were they?" Virgil demanded, already turning the nose of his girl around to face the mountain. John hesitated, fingers flying over an invisible control panel. "John, _where were they?_ Wait…"

With Thunderbird Two pointed in the direction his two brothers had gone, he could see something that definitely hadn't been there before. _Something_ in the form of rising smoke, thick and black.

"Have you found something, Virgil?"

Virgil knew what that meant. There would be time for frantic denials later. Now, it was time to move.

"They've crashed!" he shouted, throwing his Thunderbird forwards, towards the column of smoke. "John, _please_ tell me you still have their suit telemetry." _Please tell me they're still alive_.

He couldn't lose anyone else, not like this. Not to a snow-covered mountain. No, no, _no._

"Bringing it up now," his brother said. "Suits are damaged. Gordon seems okay, but Scott's suit has lost most of its integrity. Scratch that, it's still going down. Heat sensors are over the limit?" Turquoise eyes frowned. "That can't be right. Why would it be that hot on a mountain?"

"Fire," Virgil responded shortly. "I see smoke, John."

His brother sucked in a breath fast enough for the whistle to emit over comms.

"But that means-"

"Scott's on fire!"

A pierce shrieking cut though the air all of a sudden. The vibration sensor.

He was getting close to the smoke, now. Virgil could see it right in front of him, close enough to see the tops of the flames. The other side of it, snow was roaring down.

Avalanche.

His brothers were right in the path.

"Virgil, the climbers are a little further on from your position," John said as he brought his 'bird around the ridge. "That avalanche is going to hit them first; I'd estimate twenty five seconds til impact."

Could this day get any worse?

Save his brothers, or save the climbers.

He didn't have time for both.

"Get the climbers," John ordered, taking the decision from him. "I'll handle Scott and Gordon."

"Ho-" Virgil's inquiry was cut off by the roaring of a familiar engine and a streak of red and grey. "F.A.B."

He didn't know what John was planning, but he had to trust him. He _did_ trust him. John stood as much to lose as he did. With grit teeth, he pushed his 'bird further, past the column of smoke and his brothers. Straight towards the avalanche threatening to bring up his worst demons if he let himself think about it.

No time to think, just time to _do_. The three climbers came into view, at least having the sense to wear bright orange, and he flicked a switch to lower the claw, seats attached. Without Scott or Gordon, or the time to go down himself, he couldn't do anything about whatever injuries the climbers had amassed. If any of them were injured and couldn't get onto a swinging, frantic seat in mid-air…

Well, there was nothing Virgil could do except pray and hold Thunderbird Two as steady as possible as the avalanche hurtled towards them. He stayed there until the last possible second, giving them as much time as possible before winching up and gaining altitude. Through the open comms, he could just about hear gasps of shock from his newly-collected passengers as messy white thundered past their feet.

Straight towards his brothers.

Thunderbird Two was fantastic, but when it came to turning on a dime, she was the most cumbersome. A manoeuvre that would have taken Thunderbirds One and Shadow the blink of an eye took a couple of seconds, especially as he had to still take care with his precariously-gathered rescuees, still dangling below on retracting cables.

The seats entered the module at the same time he completed his turn, and as voices of shaken relief sounded through Thunderbird Two's intercom, he gaped at the scene in front of him.

The column of smoke had lost its shape, reduced to wisps scattering with nothing new blooming up from the mountainside. Flames that had previously been licking up at the sky inside the stormy grey were nowhere to be seen, stifled and swallowed whole by the roaring white monster, the avalanche uncaring what – or _who_ – had been in its path.

He couldn't see anything. Not the remains of the crashed HeliPod, not the fire previously marking the position.

Not even Thunderbird One.

"John?" he asked tentatively, simultaneously afraid to know yet also _needing_ to know. The smaller Thunderbird's distinctive engine sound couldn't be heard, and he hoped that was just his own larger 'bird's engines drowning her out. "Where are they?"

Two icons flashed up on a holographic display in answer. Virgil's eyes went wide. "John!"

"There wasn't time to pick them up," his older brother said, face pinched and worn. Was it just the hologram or did he look paler than normal?

"John, _what happened?_ "

According to the holographic display, his brothers were on the mountainside below him. His eyes only showed him snow, snow and more snow.

No brothers. No Thunderbird One.


	3. III - Scott

When he was thirteen, Scott had burnt his hand on the stove. Dad had been at work, and Mom had been busy with a fussy Alan, so he'd taken it upon himself to get started on dinner. It hadn't been his first time in the kitchen – far from it, with his mother determined that he would _not_ inherit the Tracy line's lack of cooking ability (their Dad might cringe from his mother's cooking, but with the exception of pancakes he was no better), Scott and his brothers had been subjected to many a cooking lesson. Even little Alan was learning to throw flour around when they baked cakes.

It had, however, been his first time in the kitchen unsupervised, and with a five year old brother running into the room and pretending to be an octopus – _got your legs, Scotty!_ – the young teenager had stumbled and made the dangerous mistake of not looking at where he'd put his hand to brace himself.

That had been the last time he'd screamed, summoning a frantic mother and several brothers to where he was being assaulted by a tearfully apologetic younger brother – _I didn't mean to hurt you, Scotty! I'm sorry!_ Gordon had learnt a lesson about playing in the kitchen, and Scott had learnt to watch where he was putting his hands.

The urge to scream now was strong. Scott had suffered many injuries, some serious, in his life, mostly through his work for International Rescue, but there was nothing that could quite compare to the all-encompassing, overpowering _burn_ of hot metal. It seared through his suit, pressing the neoprene against his skin and channelling agony all the way across his chest and abdomen, where the metal sat, immovable against both his and Gordon's best efforts to move it.

Through the haze of pain, he heard Gordon shout for help, almost a scream in its own right. He sounded hurt himself, but Scott couldn't focus through the excruciating pain of his flight suit – designed to protect him, but not from _this_ – enough to see what had happened to his brother, how badly he was hurt. He couldn't even ask, reduced to rasping his brother's name over and over again with a throat restricted by _pain_.

And then the rumbling began. Scott knew that rumble, heard it in his nightmares, sometimes imagined a phantom of it on snow rescues.

This wasn't a phantom. This was real. This was the same monster that had torn their mother from them, and it was no doubt coming straight for him.

"Run," he rasped, begging Gordon to _go_ , to find some escape or at least better shelter than the burning remains of a HeliPod. If Gordon replied, he didn't hear it over the pounding of blood in his ears and the ever-increasing thunder approaching.

He felt a grip on his wrist, a desperate tug that yanked him partway from under the metal and elicited a cry of pain, and then everything went black as the snow hit.

While he knew what an avalanche sounded like, what it looked like, he'd never been caught in one himself. The one that had stolen his mother and made a good go at his younger brothers had passed him by, travelling a different slope to the one he'd been naively snowboarding on.

There was a lot less being tossed around than he'd thought, the snow slamming into him with less ferocity than expected. It didn't even free him from the metal, although the frigid cold doused him, leaving part of his body numb. Numb was, for the moment, better than pain. It let him _think_.

"Gordon?" he croaked. There was no response and terror gripped him. "Gordon!" The grip on his wrist had gone, and snow encompassed his vision. He pushed at the metal again, breaking the numbness on his hands as searing hot metal once again came to contact with his already burnt and blistered fingers. Around him the snow was melting, giving him a greater hollow to manoeuvre in and finally letting him slide from underneath the metal.

Almost immediately he slammed into something else hard and unmoving, gasping as the movement and subsequent sudden stop jarred the snow-numbed area. It didn't seem hot, as best as he could tell, and Scott awkwardly pushed against it, trying to get past it. He needed to find Gordon, and this lump of-

He got a good look at it and another gasp that had nothing to do with pain tore itself from his lips. It was metal, a silver that was as familiar to him as his own hand, but- That couldn't be possible. He followed the metal, pushing and pulling his way through the snow until he reached something big. Something that shouldn't be there.

Buried in the snow, immediately up the slope from them and clearly the reason Scott hadn't been jumbled halfway _down_ the slope, was his precious Thunderbird.

The _how_ and _why_ could wait. His Thunderbird had – somehow – shielded him from the worst of the avalanche but he was still buried, if in a decent-sized air pocket beneath her extended wing, and Gordon was still missing.

In an avalanche.

It was as though he was fourteen again. The snow-numb parts of his body meant nothing as he turned away from the silver hull of Thunderbird One and dug his way through the snow downslope, ignoring the red streaks from where his damaged hands swiped the wet stuff out of his way.

Gordon. He had to find Gordon.

"Gordon!" he shouted. They'd both been wearing their helmets when they'd crashed. Gordon had a better knee-jerk reaction to keeping his helmet _on_ than Scott did, and as Scott was still wearing his that meant Gordon _probably_ hadn't removed his, either. There was no response and he scrabbled harder, following his 'bird's wing and praying the Thunderbird's protection had extended to Gordon as well.

The wing was slanted down, at an angle it would never be if landed properly with landing struts extended. Scott could even see the strut, still in its housing inside the wing. In the back of his mind, the section not occupied with thoughts of _Gordon, must find Gordon_ , he realised that however Thunderbird One had ended up buried with him, there was a high chance that she wasn't going to be flying out of there again.

Red-stained snow parted in front of him to reveal blue, and he dug all the more ferociously, ignoring the pain starting to make itself known through the numb again as he uncovered the crumpled form of his younger brother. Gordon had been caught rather more literally than he had by Thunderbird One, with his back cushioned by the wingtip. It was obvious immediately that Gordon's left leg was broken, although Scott had no idea if that was from the crash or the avalanche.

More pressingly, despite wearing his helmet, complete with rebreather in place, Gordon's eyes were closed and the aquanaut was clearly unconscious.

"Gordon!" he called, fumbling for his shoulder but unable to get a hold on the neoprene. Red streaks marred the blue from his attempt. There was no response and he tried to dig further, to completely expose his brother, but the pain in his chest and abdomen flared up with a sudden intensity that drew another sharp cry of pain from him and had him collapsing in a heap over Gordon's unmoving form.

He heaved for breath, but each inhalation _hurt_ as it pulled on the parts of his body subjected to the burning metal. Attempts to push himself up failed, the adrenaline that had pushed him to _find Gordon_ ebbing away now that he had, in fact, found Gordon. Apparently his brother's unconscious state wasn't enough to give him that additional kick to get him moving again, or maybe being under the protective wing of his Thunderbird was making him feel safe, despite still being buried.

Alternatively, his body had decided it'd been ignored enough and was collecting its dues. He hadn't looked at his uniform to see the damage, was now in a position where he _couldn't_. Slumped over the top of his brother, he just couldn't get his breathing under control from where it kept hitching in pain.

They had to get out. Survival rates dropped dramatically after fifteen minutes, and even with a Thunderbird buried alongside them, Scott wasn't naïve enough to think that that rule wouldn't apply to them, either. Not Gordon, unconscious as he was, and not himself, with blood staining everything he touched and undetermined damage from the crash.

They had to get _out_ , but his body wasn't responding, his strength sapped by the cold, cold snow and before that the flaming hot metal. He could still _feel_ the heat, getting closer and closer…

Wait, what?

A white-hot tip burst through the snow near him, quickly followed by the familiar dark green of a Sherpa Pod.

"Scott! Gordon!" Virgil leapt out of the pod and hurried over to them.

"Virgil," he replied, voice still a shaky rasp. "I'm- I'm okay. Gordon's… unconscious… broken leg." He tried to push himself back up, off of Gordon so Virgil could get to their younger brother, but his body refused to co-operate.

"Like hell are you okay," Virgil responded, crouching down beside him. "Come on, let's get you-" he stuttered to a stop, and Scott could see just enough of his face to see that he'd paled. "Shit," he hissed. "Have you _seen_ yourself?"

"No?" Scott offered, his attention still on Gordon even as warm hands gripped him and guided him off of Gordon, laying him down on his back.

"That's probably for the best," Virgil muttered. Scott was relieved to see him assessing Gordon, splinting his leg before moving him into the cargo bay attached to the back of the pod. "Gordon's okay. Broken leg and wrist, but nothing else. _You,_ on the other hand. How the hell are you still conscious?"

"It's not that bad," Scott protested, once again trying to move. It _hurt_ , but he was conscious. "Gordon-"

"Will be fine," Virgil repeated, and Scott let out a pained gasp as he found himself being lifted. His vision fuzzed around the edges and threatened to grey out entirely. "I'm more worried about you."

Scott made to protest again, but just as he opened his mouth his vision cleared again. From his new position in his brother's arms, he could see his body for the first time and bile surged. The entire right side of his uniform, from shoulder to leg, was blackened and looked almost as though it had been _melted_.

He shut his mouth again, fighting back the nausea at the realisation that a large part of his uniform had been _fused_ to him.

"We're getting out of here," Virgil said. "John's keeping an eye on the snow stability but the less time we spend here the better." Scott wasn't complaining, hissing as the pod started to move and the harness knocked against his right shoulder.

"What about Thunderbird One?" he asked, realising they were leaving his 'bird behind.

"Lives first, machines second," John butted in, hologram appearing in front of him and looking concerned. "I've still got her location signal, and no-one else knows where she is. Thunderbird One will be fine until we retrieve her." That made sense, as much as part of Scott protested at leaving his damaged 'bird buried under snow.

Sunlight streamed in through the glass as they broke the surface, showing a beautiful white vista of snow. Scott couldn't appreciate it, though. Not now.

Thunderbird Two was ready and waiting for them, three climbers in a vibrant orange that Scott had almost entirely forgotten about despite them being the reason they were out there in the first place hovering inside the module. They were saying things, babbling apologies, but Scott couldn't respond as he was lifted back out of the pod and placed on a stretcher to more temporarily-greying vision.

"Gordon," he insisted as engines hummed into life and the green behemoth took off. Virgil sighed.

"He's secure in there. John's keeping an eye on him. Now let me have a look at you." Scott didn't have the energy left to fight as Virgil cut off his uniform as best he could, trying not to think too hard about the fact that a large part of it still remained where it was firmly stuck to the skin. Virgil's face did not look reassuring, and to Scott's internal horror he was approached with a needle.

"Is that really necessary?" he asked. Virgil rolled his eyes and pawed at his left arm.

"You know it is," he said as the needle went in, and Scott scowled. "Let's get you warming up and hydrated, then I'll see to Gordon."

The unsaid message was clear. _The less fuss you make, the faster I can look at Gordon_.

Scott swallowed any and all urges to make a fuss. Despite Virgil's reassurance that the aquanaut would be fine, he was still worried, but he knew when he was facing a losing battle. With his compliance, Scott found himself soon warming up and relatively pain-free, despite the cool water running over his burns.

"Stay right there," Virgil warned, John's hologram now appearing by the stretcher. "John is here if you need me-" Scott had no intentions of needing anyone until Gordon was awake "-and I have three volunteers here to make sure you _don't move_. I'll be back to deal with those burns of yours in a minute."

With that, Virgil headed for the pod, leaving Scott with his immediate brother in holographic form, and three nervous climbers for company.


	4. IV - John

"Talk to me, Scott. What happened?"

Virgil wasn't the only one worried. All John had had was heat readings way past Scott's suit's parameters to deal with to tell him what was happening to his older brother as the avalanche had borne down on him and Gordon – who, aside from an increased heartrate and rising temperature in his gloves, had no maladies reaching Thunderbird Five's sensors. Scott would no doubt be devastated when he found out that John had sacrificed Thunderbird One to the avalanche to shield them; ideally he'd have opened the cargo bay doors and swallowed both brothers up, away from the snow, but there were _limitations_ to remote controlling Thunderbirds from space. He'd done what he could, and no matter what Scott had to say about it later, John would never regret it.

_Lives before machines_. Relegated to listening and watching rescues and his brothers' recklessness (all four of them, no matter what Virgil might claim about being the responsible one), John had learnt to prioritise. A Thunderbird could be repaired, or replaced. A brother could _not_.

He had no desire to ever be the eldest brother, and if he had to destroy his sole big brother's Thunderbird to keep that title away from him, then he'd do it as many times as it took. Similarly, he had no desire to end up an _only_ child, nor indeed to have anything less than one older brother and three younger. John had always had a gift for gaining unauthorised access, but it was with his own Thunderbird that he'd honed that to the art it was now. His siblings thought he did it to help them with their missions, to take part as best he could.

They weren't _wrong_ ; John was a member of International Rescue just as much as the rest of them. It just wasn't the entire reason – or even the main reason, if he was honest to himself. Gaining control of the most innocent of things – a plane door, a train signal – was always to keep his brothers as safe as they could possibly be in this dangerous job their father had left in their hands.

Sometimes, John resented their father for that, in his darkest moods, when there'd been yet another _too close_ moment, when he'd been the sole witness to a brother's breakdown because the pressure was just _too much_. He resented him for _leaving_ them, even if there was really no other way Jeff Tracy could have left the world – with a bang, saving lives.

That end awaited them, one day. One day, all together or one by one, they wouldn't come home from a rescue and the world would mourn a _hero_ , forgetting that heroes had families, too. Up in space, in a constant state of danger as opposed to the ever-fluctuating levels his brothers threw themselves into, John didn't know if he'd be the first or last to follow their parents. He suspected the latter, because that was all he could ever do, wasn't it? Watch, and be _useless_ when he most wanted to be able to do something.

He hadn't been useless today. He'd had Thunderbird One at his disposal, and both his brothers were alive. It was just another day of _too close_ , bringing back to the fore the ever-lurking fear that one day _too close_ would become _too late_.

EOS was taking Thunderbird Two to the nearest hospital with a burn specialist unit. Not New Zealand – for all that was their _usual_ hospital, the local one they liked to use whenever they had a choice, there were other, better hospitals closer, and John was worried.

"The HeliPod exploded," Scott rasped at him. He looked awful, and John didn't bother trying to convince himself that it was just the hologram's blue tinge making him seem pale. Enough of his big brother was being projected into his Thunderbird that he could see where his mangled uniform had been cut off, stuck to burns that should never had happened. "Some of it landed on me. Gordon tried- Gordon! John, how is Gordon?"

Typical Scott.

"Gordon is fine." He knew for a fact that Scott had already been told that. Several times.

"Has he woken up?"

"We're talking about what happened," John reminded him. Gordon had woken up. In fact, he'd been awake since Virgil had put him in the cargo pod, but all three brothers had unanimously decided that Scott was a higher priority. If Scott was thinking properly, he'd have known that Virgil would not leave an unconscious patient alone for that long (as much as John hated it, as long as he was only there via hologram he _didn't count_ ), but he wasn't and all three of them had unashamedly preyed on his concern about Gordon to get him to co-operate.

Cruel? Probably, but Scott had long since proven that the only way to get him to even vaguely co-operate with medical care was manipulation. They'd deal with Storm Scott later when he figured it out.

"Give me an update on Gordon, Thunderbird Five."

Of course, the downside was that Scott had a single-track mind regarding their younger brother and getting him to focus on anything _else_ would be an absolute nightmare. Right now, John was rather concerned about an 'exploding' HeliPod, considering nothing Brains _ever_ built and approved for use would explode unintentionally, and would appreciate more details.

Besides, Scott _had_ suffered through the first stage of treatment.

"He has a broken leg and a broken wrist, but both breaks are clean," John assured him. "His suit protected him from the cold so there's minimal concern regarding hypothermia. His fingers have some first degree burns, but nothing of concern. And yes, he has regained consciousness." Scott visibly relaxed, and John kept a close eye on him for an escape attempt even as a hurriedly typed message to Virgil informed him of the update to Scott's knowledge. A moment later a text reply arrived.

_Almost done w G._

"Now, what was that about the HeliPod exploding?" he asked Scott. "That shouldn't happen."

"I don't know," his brother groaned. "Gordon took us around the peak, and then it fireballed." No, John did _not_ like the sound of that.

He immediately pulled up all the scans of the area, looking for anything that could have possibly caused a malfunction of that level. Nothing immediately showed itself, but John was nothing if not persistent.

Especially when his brothers were involved.

"Thunderbird Two will be arriving shortly," EOS chipped in, just as Virgil left the pod and headed back to Scott's side.

"Thank you, EOS," his brother said. "Scott, this is your stop."

" _What?"_ Scott sounded horrified at the idea, and John watched Virgil jump forwards to lightly hold him down, securing the straps enough to stop any successful escape attempts from their injured brother. "What do you mean, _my stop_?"

"Exactly what I said," Virgil said matter-of-factly. "You might be conscious, but you're still seriously injured beyond anything we can handle at base."

"This hospital has a specialist burn unit," John interjected, before Scott could start arguing back. It didn't pacify their older brother at all, but there was nothing he could do about it as Thunderbird Two landed and Scott found himself being pushed out to the waiting paramedics. Virgil ushered the climbers out as well, to thanks and more apologies.

"We're not leaving Scott there alone, are we?" Gordon asked him and he turned to his younger brother's hologram. Of all of them, Gordon knew best what it was like to be alone in a hospital, and always made a point of ensuring none of the rest of them were alone for long. The only thing stopping him this time was his own injuries, none of which were severe enough to justify taking up hospital space when they could treat them just fine at home.

"Kayo's on her way with Grandma," he informed him. Their sister was furious at what little information he'd already streamed her way, and it had taken some stern words from Grandma to get her to agree to go to the hospital instead of heading for the crash site to investigate. "Scott won't be alone." Gordon sighed but seemed pacified enough for the moment.

There was no cameras John could legally use in the hospital, but when it came to his brothers, John wasn't overly concerned about legality. It took barely a minute to get into the security system, tracking Scott's journey and watching as he was taken straight to the burn ward. There was no sound, but he could see Virgil debriefing one of the physicians before heading back to Thunderbird Two.

There was nothing more John could do for his brothers; EOS kept the feed from the hospital up in the corner, always showing whichever camera was currently focused on his brother, but John had better things to do than sit and watch helplessly as they began work on Scott's injuries, although he couldn't help glancing over periodically to see high-grade anaesthetic being administered before treatment began.

Thunderbird Shadow was quick to appear, landing next to Thunderbird Two. John watched as hugs were exchanged, Grandma briefly entering the module to hug Gordon, and then the two women were heading inside. He directed them to the relevant ward personally, rather than letting the well-meaning staff waylay them, then watched Thunderbird Two take off for home.

Satisfied for now that his brothers were in good hands, and allowing Gordon to patch himself through to a by now agitated Alan – who had been largely kept out of the loop and therefore getting more and more frustrated ever since Thunderbird Shadow had taken off – he turned his attention to the biggest concern of the day.

He needed to talk to Brains.


	5. V - Brains

"I-It doesn't make _sense_!" Brains declared to MAX, who whistled back at him sadly. His hands were shaking, and he curled them into balls. John's call, interrupting some Thunderbird Three maintenance and potential upgrades, had been full of nothing but bad news. Scott hospitalised, Gordon heading home with broken bones, and all because one of their pods – a pod _Brains_ had designed – had exploded on them.

Calculations whizzed past in front of him, all the variables and what-ifs of a HeliPod's construction. Had he made a mistake? Was he sending the boys out with a ticking time bomb? Mr Tracy would _never_ forgive him for such an error.

MAX whistled at him again, insisting that he hadn't made a mistake, but he just shook his head at his creation.

"N-no, MAX. There m-must be an explanation. Thunderbird Five d-didn't detect anyone e-else in the vicinity, s-so it must be an issue with the HeliPod." But what? The schematics didn't highlight anything out of the ordinary. Information streamed from Thunderbird Two on the exact makeup of that particular pod showed nothing odd, either.

He started again, back from the top. What was he missing? Nothing was coming up, all the calculations were perfect, assembly had gone without issue, no issues with any of the parts used. Nothing, nothing, _nothing_.

In the corner of the display, Scott's suit telemetry taunted him. Another failure. He needed to look into that as well, find a way to improve its heat resistance. What if Virgil hadn't been so close? HeliPods could go a long way from Thunderbird Two. Their suits were supposed to protect them. It had failed.

Was there a way to get neoprene to resist higher temperatures? Would he need to argue with Scott about replacing the fingerless gloves with full-cover like his brothers'? Scott had said he didn't need them, that the extra dexterity made piloting easier, and Brains preferred not to clash horns with the eldest Tracy brother if he could, but he _couldn't_ let this happen again.

MAX whistled at him again, turning around in a circle before heading out of the room. His concentration broken by the sudden departure, Brains heard the unmistakable sound of Thunderbird Two returning to her hangar. He hadn't heard Thunderbird One, but that wasn't overly unusual when he was distracted by his work.

Thunderbird Two. Virgil.

He hurried to the hangar, arriving just as a stretcher bearing a bundled-up Gordon was offloaded. Alan was already there, bouncing up and down nervously at his brother's side, but it was Virgil Brains needed.

"V-Virgil!" he called, running across the hangar and almost falling flat on his face.

"Can it wait, Brains?" the larger man asked, frowning down at his brother. "I have to get Gordon settled."

"Do you have the H-heliPod?" he asked. Virgil's face went dark.

"Buried under an avalanche," he said.

"O-oh." Brains _needed_ that HeliPod. Calculations didn't tell him what had gone wrong; he needed to see the actual remains and analyse them.

"Brains, I have to get Gordon sorted, then get back to the hospital. The HeliPod is not important right now," Virgil said firmly, but Brains shook his head.

"N-no, Virgil. I _n-need_ to see that HeliPod a-as soon as possible. U-until I can determine w-what happened to make it e-explode, I c-cannot allow any of y-you to use a-any of the p-pods." Brains didn't like arguing, let alone with Virgil, who was usually the calmest and most reasonable of the on-Earth Tracys, but this was important. Too important to wait. "I-I can take Thunderbird Two myself."

"No!" Virgil snapped. "The site's too dangerous."

"Uh, hey, Virg?" Gordon interjected, making Brains jump. He hadn't even realised the aquanaut was conscious. "You know you've got to go back anyway? Thunderbird One?"

"Thunderbird One can wait," Virgil said stubbornly. "Sorry, Brains. You'll have to do your assessments another way. We can't retrieve the HeliPod." He stalked away, towing the stretcher with him.

MAX whistled mournfully.

"I know, MAX," he replied. "I n-need to see the remains t-to see what happened."

"I'll take you!" Alan appeared at his shoulder. "Come on, let's find out what happened to my brothers!"

" _ALAN!"_ Virgil roared. There was the sound of heavy boots pounding across the hangar floor, and Virgil was back in front of them, every inch the angry bear he could be when provoked. "Absolutely _not_. You are staying right here on Tracy Island with Gordon."

"But… Scott will be happier if Thunderbird One's back home," Alan protested, poking the bear in a way Brains could never gather the courage to do. "And Brains is right! We have to know what happened to Scott and Gordon. What if it was the Hood?"

"Then we leave Kayo and the GDF to deal with it," Virgil growled. "John is already in contact with them. Once Scott's out of surgery, Kayo's going to the site to see what she can find."

"She's going _alone_?" Alan gasped. "But- isn't that dangerous?"

"Kayo's trained for that sort of thing," Virgil pointed out. "You are _not_."

"But… but…" Alan started. "But if Thunderbird Two needs to go back to retrieve Thunderbird One _anyway_ , why not go at the same time as Kayo?"

"Alan-"

"It's in an avalanche zone, right? So if we wait too long, there might be another one and then Thunderbird One will be even harder to get!"

Brains refrained from mentioning that it was possible, if time-consuming, to construct a brand new, upgraded, Thunderbird One, and that the boys got unhealthily attached to their machines despite his warnings to the contrary. While it was true, it would do nothing except give Virgil another reason to not go back, and while Thunderbird One was replaceable, the information from the damaged HeliPod was _not_.

Virgil looked unimpressed, arms crossed and unmoving in the face of his youngest brother's arguments. Brains feared that he'd need to hijack Thunderbird Two himself the moment Virgil was out of the hangar, but he was no pilot and certainly had no head for heights nor speed.

"Virgil," he started, determined to argue his case one more time, but was interrupted by John appearing.

"Kayo thinks it's a good idea," the ginger said. "She says she'll meet you there."

"John-"

"It's too dangerous for one of you to go alone to a live avalanche site," John steamrollered. Brains didn't often get to see John overriding any of his brothers, but even through the hologram and his limited understanding of fellow humans, he could tell that John was _angry_. "Brains is right. There is absolutely no sign of anyone else there on the ridge that EOS or Thunderbird Five can detect, but the HeliPod didn't explode until they were out of your sight, which means that _something_ is not right. None of the theoretical calculations Brains or I have run so far explain that, so we need to at least get detailed scans of the HeliPod, if not the physical remains."

"I-"

"We're looking at best case scenario, Thunderbird Two's pods have a potentially fatal flaw, and worst case scenario, someone is actively trying to kill us – and came far too close to succeeding today. We need answers, Virgil, and we can't wait for them. If you can't leave Gordon, I'll be down in fifteen minutes to take Thunderbird Two and Brains out myself."

"John-"

"Thunderbird Two is going back there no matter what, Virgil," John told him firmly. "The only say you get is who's on board."

Virgil looked furious, glaring at his brother's hologram. Brains waited with baited breath, Alan alongside him, as a silent battle of wills took place between the second and third Tracy sons.

"I don't like it," Virgil said finally, his tone leaving Brains in no doubt that Virgil absolutely _hated_ it. "But no-one's piloting my 'bird into an avalanche zone except me. And none of you are coming with me."

"But Virgil-"

"Alan, you are going to stay right here with Gordon." The blond pouted but nodded.

"T-take MAX," Brains insisted, quietly relieved that he was banned from the flight. Thunderbird Two was magnificent, but like the other Thunderbirds had a tendency to make him sick. His robot whistled eagerly, bouncing on his wheels to show his enthusiasm for the idea.

Virgil surveyed him for a moment, brown eyes severe and obviously unhappy with the situation.

"Fine," he caved, clearly realising that there was no additional risk to including a robot in the flight. "But I'm getting Gordon settled first. Alan, come on. And John?"

"Yes, Virgil?"

"If you're not down here by the time I get back from the medical bay, I'll drag you down myself."

Brains strongly disagreed with that demand. Thunderbird Five had the most sophisticated computers in International Rescue, and would be crucial to the investigation.

"I'll be there," John promised. Virgil nodded and stalked back across the hangar with Alan in tow. Brains didn't watch him go.

"But John!" he protested. "Thunderbird Five's c-computers will be crucial in the investigation."

"It's fine, Brains. EOS can give us all the information we need," John assured him. "If I don't come down, Virgil isn't going to go at all."

"I-if you say so." Brains was dubious, but there was nothing more he could do. "C-come on, MAX, let's get you r-ready for the mountains."

MAX gave an enthusiastic whistle and eagerly led the way back to the lab.

Refitting him didn't take long, and soon he had MAX ready and waiting for Virgil in Thunderbird Two. Brains himself settled in his lab chair, his goggles settled comfortably over his eyes to show him everything MAX's optical sensors transmitted.

Virgil took rather longer to appear, presumably awaiting John's descent from Thunderbird Five before entering his launch chute, but he finally did so, greeting MAX cordially enough. Brains thought he seemed a little more settled with the idea and part of him wondered if his brothers had continued the conversation out of his earshot.

"Okay then, MAX, let's go get Thunderbird One, and find out what happened to that HeliPod. Brains, you ready?"

"R.A.D."

"Alright then." The cargo transporter moved, trundling forwards onto the runway. Brains didn't need MAX to look out of the window to imagine the launch ramp engaging itself; nor did he need the audio sensors to hear the rumble of the main engines igniting. "Thunderbird Two is go!"


	6. VI - Kayo

A soft hand on her arm alerted Kayo to the fact she was trembling. Not from cold or fear, but anger. She knew Brains, trusted his genius; their Pods were all well-tested and reliable. John said something was afoot, and she fully agreed.

If Grandma hadn't put her foot down and firmly request she stay and keep her company, she would have been on the mountain by now. John hadn't been able to find any sign that anyone else had been there, but there was only so much a space station could do, even if that space station was Thunderbird Five. Some detailed scans of the area using her own hand-held scanner, and they'd find _something_. What that something would be, Kayo didn't yet know, but it would be something and they'd have a trail.

Someone had tried to kill her brothers. Of that, Kayo had no doubt at all. The question was who, and how?

She rested her hand over Grandma's, and waited. They hadn't been able to see Scott before he'd been taken in for surgery, despite John's guidance through the corridors, but Grandma insisted that she wait for him to come back out before 'haring off' on her investigations. Despite her fury that anyone would _dare_ attempt anything like this, the little sister in her wanted to see him for herself, and she'd agreed.

From what she'd gathered from John, Virgil was in no hurry to rendezvous with her, anyway, and Thunderbird Shadow was both faster and closer. She had plenty of time to sit with the elderly woman who had lost so much but refused to give up yet, and wait.

Hospitals were unpleasant places, full of the sick and dying. It tore at her every time one of her brothers ended up in one – this was not the first time, and nor would it be the last. The sterile stench of antiseptics couldn't quite disguise the prevailing _illness_ of the place. It was almost certainly her imagination, but she could even pick up the congealing scent of burnt flesh, taunting her with the knowledge of what had happened to her brother.

Kayo wasn't naïve. With her estranged half-uncle and many years investigating the underbelly of the world, she had seen many things that a woman of her age could barely imagine. She'd seen men and women with horrific scarring, with stories of fire to go along with them. If it was so bad that Scott needed surgery – and he did, was in there right now – all the money in the world wouldn't stop this incident from adding another collection of scars to his skin.

A nurse approached them, informing them that Scott was out of surgery, and despite her clear intention of keeping them away from him for a while longer, there was no arguing with Doctor Sally Tracy. Kayo slipped into the room on the heels of the diminutive yet formidable lady. It was a private room; the boys might dislike using their money for privileges but this was something instilled in them by her father long ago. It was easier to maintain security that way.

Scott was still asleep, too soon out of surgery to have shaken off the anaesthetic, but that made it easier. If he was awake he'd be arguing, refusing to let her go back to the mountain and throwing an absolute fit over Virgil also going back. In an induced sleep, there were no nightmares plaguing him, and the ever-present frown that seemed to be settling as his permanent expression these days was gone.

She ran her fingers through his hair, gel stubbornly clinging in there but losing its battle to keep his preferred hairstyle intact after the day it'd had. If not for the bandages on both his fingers, she might have held his hand, but that wasn't possible and besides, she had places to be. This visit was a quick one of simple reassurance for her; he was alive. A more sentimental, _emotional_ , visit could wait until she'd got to the bottom of what had happened.

"I'll be back," she promised. She met Grandma's eyes, got a nod, and left.

"Virgil's fifteen minutes out," John told her the moment she left the hospital, appearing above her wrist uninvited. He didn't ask redundant questions – _how is he, how did the surgery go?_ Like her, John had one priority – find out what happened, and make sure it wouldn't happen again. He probably already knew the answers to those questions, anyway. Kayo had long since accepted that the combination of Thunderbird Five and John Tracy was enough to terrorise anyone who knew the full extent of their reach, and that was before EOS entered the equation.

She didn't know how much John saw, but she trusted that he saw enough, and that he ensured she knew everything she needed to.

Closer and faster, she got to the mountain first.

"Don't land or leave Thunderbird Shadow until Virgil arrives," John told her firmly. Even if she didn't know the Tracy's personal history with avalanches, Kayo would have been wary. As it was, she appreciated that their already fierce protectiveness was ramped up to the extreme in this environment and additional situation. She _could_ handle this herself, but out of respect to a family that had never fully healed, she didn't.

Instead, she had Thunderbird Shadow lazily circle the peak, keeping far enough away that her engines wouldn't trigger another avalanche, and set the scanners going. Immediately a signal jumped out at her, Thunderbird Shadow locating her buried sister. That was where Scott and Gordon had been found; presumably, that was also where they and the HeliPod remains had landed.

She spiralled down lower, until she could see disturbed snow with her naked eye. Tell-tale signs of something heavy on otherwise loose snow told her where Virgil had landed to retrieve them, with the hole he had melted leading down towards Thunderbird One's signal.

Her brothers had been buried there. She tightened her grip on the yoke.

"Thunderbird Shadow, I'm on final approach now," Virgil said, his hologram appearing above her console. He looked tense, and she remembered John mentioning the family bear being unhappy with the return mission. That didn't seem to have been an overstatement – in fact, from the look on his face it was almost certainly an understatement.

"F.A.B., Thunderbird Two," she responded, turning her ship around to see the green craft appearing on the horizon.

"What's our plan?" he asked her. His voice was clipped; no, Virgil was _not_ happy.

"I've already done a fly-by of the mountain. No signs of anyone except our climbers," she reported, scowling at the peak. There had to be _something_. There was no way Brains' well-used invention would have exploded like that otherwise. "I'll keep looking, unless you need a hand with Thunderbird One?"

"Keep looking; I've got MAX with me for extra hands," Virgil grunted. "Brains also wants him to retrieve or at least scan the remains of the HeliPod once we've got Thunderbird One secure." Kayo rather suspected that Brains' priority was less the Thunderbird and more the HeliPod, but said nothing. There was a time and a place to poke an angry bear with a stick. This was neither. As long as they got all the information they needed, the order in which they gathered it probably wouldn't matter.

"F.A.B., Virgil," she said instead. "I'll leave Thunderbird Shadow hovering and-"

" _No_ ," he interrupted. "Stay in that cockpit." The glare she got through the hologram told her that if she even _tried_ to leave Thunderbird Shadow, she'd find herself plucked out of the air by a grappling cable.

She'd forgotten just how touchy Virgil could be when Scott was hospitalised. Their brother's hospitalisation, combined with their current location, had him entirely on edge. If it was Scott, she'd have argued. John could be dealt with via a 'communications blackout', while Gordon and Alan were straight-up ignorable as long as it wasn't their speciality environments.

When Virgil was in this mood, it was best to just obey him no matter how much her instincts screamed that she'd get better information if she went EVA.

If push came to shove, she could always come back again later.

As it turned out, push did _not_ come to shove.

Her circling remained fruitless all the while Virgil and MAX worked together to extract a battered Thunderbird One from the snow – it was a good thing Scott wasn't there to see the damage the avalanche had inflicted on his precious 'bird. The side facing the downslope was near enough intact, but from the sky it was painfully obvious that the perfectly cylindrical shape of the main fuselage was no longer perfectly cylindrical. The right wing was crooked and clearly wouldn't be retracting into its sheath any time soon, and the side of the hull looked like it had been punched repeatedly by a giant.

There was a painful symmetry in how both the right side of Scott's body and the right side of his bird were injured. Kayo immediately decided not to dwell on that and watched from a hovering position higher up the mountain as the silver Thunderbird was hauled clear of the snow by her big green sister.

"MAX is scanning now," Virgil told her after a moment. "Is something wrong? You've been hovering in the same place for a few minutes."

"No, nothing's wrong," she assured him. "Just-" An unwelcome thought struck her. "Virgil, where were the climbers trapped?"

"You're hovering right there," he told her, and the unwelcome thought spread wings.

She was hovering here because it gave her a good view of the mountainside and the crash site.

Neither she nor John had found any evidence of anyone else anywhere near the mountain.

"Virgil, where did you drop off the climbers?"

"The hospital," he shrugged. "Didn't have a chance to check them over myself, and we were going there any- Kayo?"

_Dammit_.

She gunned the full throttle.

"Kayo?" John had joined in again, and she caught a glimpse of Alan behind him. When had John gone home? "What's going on?"

"Brains, once MAX is done scanning the HeliPod, have him scan the mountain immediately below where the climbers were rescued," she ordered.

"W-What? W-Why?"

"Think about it! We're not showing up evidence of anyone else, and the climbers could see everything in the valley from where they were," she pointed out agitatedly. "We were so busy looking for something else-"

"We forgot about the climbers," Virgil finished, his face a dawning horror.

"Put me through to Grandma," she told John.

"Already done," he said, as the older woman appeared over her console.

"Dear, what's going on?"

"Don't leave Scott's side, and don't let anyone you don't recognise in," she said quickly, pushing her 'bird to go faster. Someone had tried to kill Scott and Gordon, and if she was right that same someone was in the hospital with a now unconscious Scott, whose only protection was his grandmother. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"You think they'll try to finish the job?" Alan asked her, his voice small. She'd forgotten he was with John.

"I'm not taking chances," she replied grimly. No point sugar-coating things at this point. "John, my ETA's two minutes; what's EOS got from the security cameras?"

"Nothing yet," he said, equally grim. "But we'll keep looking."

"Let me know what you get," she replied. "Brains, what's MAX found?"

"MAX is still w-working on the scans of t-the HeliPod," he said somewhat apologetically.

"I've got Thunderbird Two scanning," Virgil interjected. If she'd thought he was angry earlier, now he was downright thunderous, not that she could blame him. "You're right, Kayo. There's something here that doesn't look like it should be."

He didn't share the scan results with her, but John and Brains simultaneously let out noises that could almost be _hisses_.

"That'd do it, alright," John muttered darkly. "This whole mission was a trap."

The hospital loomed in front of Kayo and she grit her teeth.

_You should never have left Scott and Grandma alone in an unsecure hospital. That was a rookie mistake, Tanusha Kyrano._

She just hoped it wasn't a mistake that would cost a life.


	7. VII - Alan

Alan didn't remember when his mother died. He didn't remember her at all, past vague _impressions_ and grainy old holo-footage. He didn't remember having his own bedroom, little bigger than a cupboard; by the time he had his earliest memories, he shared a room with two teenagers determined to parent him in the place of their actual parents. He remembered nothing before the avalanche that stole her away.

He _did_ remember the aftermath of the Zero-X, four older brothers in varying stages of Not Okay all trying to hold it together for the baby of the family. He remembered what came after, but the before was muddying more and more by the day. What colour had Dad's eyes been, again? Old photos and holo-footage only marginally less grainy than those with Mom didn't retain their colour. He didn't dare ask anyone, unwilling to admit he was forgetting. Or maybe he didn't want to face the fear that their memories were failing, too. Day by day, he remembered less and less of what had happened before the aircraft explosion that had stolen Dad away.

Scott had survived the explosion. Scott had survived the avalanche.

Memories and Not-Memories bubbled up too close to the surface. His family, grieving. Scott, always there. He'd never seen Scott grieve, for all that he knew he must have. He'd noticed John's absence, shut up away from Earth and pain in Thunderbird Five with his hologram getting gaunter by the day. He'd seen Virgil throw dark, melancholy paints at a drab canvas, and flinch away from a too-silent piano. He'd heard Gordon screaming with bloodied knuckles in the gym, only to throw himself into the pool with a single-mindedness that scared him.

He didn't know what Scott had done. He just knew that whenever he'd been needed, he was _there._ Storming Thunderbird Five with a Thunderbird Three that no longer had a designated pilot to force John to eat, breathing life into a piano until Virgil could be coaxed back to the ivory keys, towels to wrap Gordon in when he finally left the water.

Warm arms and a chest for Alan to burrow into like the scared child he'd been.

Whenever he'd needed him, Scott had been there.

Except now.

Scott was half the world away, and Alan needed his biggest brother _here_. Here, like Gordon, whose attempts at being normal by loudly chewing on what Alan thought might be some sort of gum were betrayed by a rarely-seen _steel_ in the depths of his amber eyes as he watched the holoprojector.

Someone had tried to kill two of his brothers, and only one was safe.

He'd been right behind John when the truth had come out. The whole mission had been a trap, the climbers they'd faced their demons to save had tried to kill his brothers, and when they'd failed, they'd tried _again._

Alan had watched Kayo's bodycam feed as she stormed the hospital with all the fury of an avenging angel, swooping down on someone whose head shimmered with the tell-tale signs of a cloaking device.

There'd been three of them in the room. Kayo's own brand of badassery, while always impressive, had paled in comparison to the other woman present.

Sometimes it was easy to forget that Grandma had her own steel. Kind, if a little old fashioned and definitely a nemesis of the kitchen, she was all soft hugs and comforting words. Alan had never thought to fear her before, but Kayo while might have been the avenging angel, Grandma was a fury from the very depths of hell.

Unarmed and the lone defence of her unconscious grandson, the woman that had travelled the world and made it her oyster before deigning to grace the world with one Jefferson Tracy, and then helped raise five strong-willed grandsons after him, came to the fore.

By the time Kayo had swooped in, there was only one left standing. Vaguely, Alan recalled hearing that Grandma was an actual Doctor once upon a time, before five grandsons needed her more. In a room she knew the ins and outs of _explicitly_ , three fools who tried to take her on had no chance. Alan had only seen the results of the carnage when Kayo's bodycam picked them up, but it was enough to give him a whole new fear of the innocent-looking equipment that sat quietly in every hospital room.

In the middle of the hurricane, Scott had been untouched. Undisturbed, even, sleeping through it all without a care in the world.

Alan really wanted his big brother. Not the one obnoxiously blowing bright green gum bubbles by his ear and chewing disgustingly loudly, or the one that had taken to scrubbing the inside of Module Two like a man possessed every spare moment he had. Not even the one sat at the desk, slumped awkwardly in the grip of gravity but unwilling to leave just yet. He wanted Scott, the one that was _always_ there when something went wrong.

"If you're that fidgety you can go make me a sandwich," Gordon said with a loud _smack_ of gum. "With extra pickles on the side."

"Get it yourself," he grumbled, only to be prodded with the end of a crutch. "Hey!"

"Guys," John sighed. He sounded tired, but Alan didn't blame him. They all knew John had been working non-stop with EOS, Kayo and Lady Penelope to get to the bottom of the attack.

For some reason, all three of the attackers, firmly entrenched in GDF holding cells, were refusing to say a word. There was the underlying fear that they hadn't been working alone. Virgil had unearthed (unsnowed?) the weapon used to destroy the HeliPod and Parker was diligently hitting up _h'old friends_ to trace it, but so far there had been little luck.

That was why Thunderbird Two was out on a mission to the hospital. They had hospital grade equipment, Grandma and Virgil. Every single member of the family, even MAX and EOS, had first aid training (slightly _different_ for the non-humans, but training nonetheless). The hospital was displeased, insisting that Scott needed to be kept there for months. _Months_. Kayo and Grandma had overridden all of their protests.

Scott was coming home.

He wasn't fit for transport, the hospital had protested. They didn't even know if he was done with surgeries or if he needed still more before the burns could heal properly.

They'd lost Mom in an avalanche, and Dad to an aircraft explosion. Scott had survived both, and none of them were going to lose him to _assassins_ , of all things. He'd be safer at home, and Grandma was confident that transporting him would not unduly stress his injuries.

In the end, it had taken a sizeable financial bribe to get the hospital to discharge him, not that the hospital would admit as such. A generous donation to their burns unit and their protests about a too-early discharge had melted away.

Not a single member of the family bothered to hide their disgust that a hospital of all places _accepted_ bribes, even if it had made things simpler. If there was one time the Tracys would throw money around, it was a situation like this, although it was true that there was also a silent agreement between them that Scott wasn't going to find out about this particular little bribe. He'd throw money everywhere for his brothers, but got sour when the situation was reversed.

"Seriously, Alan. Go make me a sandwich," Gordon whined. Alan didn't want to tear his eyes away from the hologram; Scott's reluctance to behave himself whenever he was injured had prompted Virgil and Grandma to sedate him for the journey, to _ensure_ he didn't cause additional damage to himself with his usual escaping escapades, but that hadn't stopped the three brothers still on the island from streaming Thunderbird Two's internal camera into the middle of the den.

John had watched his uniform melt, while Gordon had tried and failed to pull him free. Alan had been kept in the dark for too long. None of them would be taking their eyes off of him until he was safe and sound at home.

No matter how much Gordon tried to throw him out of the room on the pretence of requiring a sandwich, even though he was still chewing that gum.

John didn't intervene again, and Alan suspected he was afraid that if the staged normality was broken they'd all fall back into an oppressive silence.

Alan didn't get Gordon a sandwich. He snatched the crutch away as it prodded him again, setting it out of reach and listening to Gordon whine about that instead until the more welcome whine of Thunderbird Two's engines reached their ears.

All three brothers looked at each other, before moving. Alan looped under one of Gordon's arms, John abandoning the desk to come to his other side – collecting the confiscated crutch in the process – and as one the trio made for the hangar. Slowed by Gordon as they were, although leaving him behind was unthinkable, the green Thunderbird was settled back in her place and raised clear of the module by the time they arrived.

Grandma was first out, but only just as Virgil nudged the stretcher to follow her closely. An unruly mop of dark brown hair appearing was the last straw for Alan. He left Gordon to John – one of them muttered something, but he wasn't listening – and ran the distance, clinging to the side of the stretcher and ignoring scoldings about running in the hangar.

"Scott?" he asked, unable to touch him. His eyes were still closed, and it was impossible to miss the dressings covering both his hands and what was visible of his right side. His infallible big brother looked fragile, like one of those porcelain dolls that sat in clear view whenever Kayo left her bedroom door open (Alan always found them creepy, and she smirked whenever he mentioned it). Alan didn't like it.

Virgil put a hand on his shoulder and he looked up at him.

"He shouldn't be sleeping much longer," his older brother assured him, before frowning. Alan followed his gaze and saw Gordon hobbling towards them, still supported by John. "You should have waited in the medical bay, you idiot."

"Have you met Gordon?" a voice Alan had been waiting to hear ever since the nightmare had started asked, amused.

"I can live in hope," Virgil grumbled, shaking his head as the final two brothers joined the gathering in the middle of the hangar. "I see you didn't stay asleep a moment longer than you had to."

Alan looked back down at the stretcher to see blue eyes looking back at him.

"Why would I want to sleep through this?" Scott asked, but it wasn't Virgil he was looking at. "You okay, Alan?" Alan saw an aborted attempt at moving his arms, and gingerly wrapped his own around his biggest brother, stretcher and all.

Virgil and Grandma both made noises of disapproval, but Alan ignored them.

Mom had died in an avalanche. Dad had died in an aircraft explosion. Scott had survived both and now he was home.

"Yeah," he mumbled into a hospital-gown covered shoulder. "I am now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those of you who also saw this on tumblr might be aware that this fic didn't follow the plan right from the start til the end, but that said I've still very much enjoyed writing this (and learnt some fun stuff about paramedic burn treatment thanks to bothering a paramedic-in-training I know irl) and I hope you've enjoyed reading it! I'm sure I'll be back tomorrow with the next sense (there's a 50/50 chance it's the sense I've been planning right from the start, which will probably also go off the rails like this one, but hey, that's the fun of writing), so see you then!
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> Tsari


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